Learning to Cope
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: George and Angelina were struggling even before, but when their first child is born with a hearing defect, making sure she gets the same opportunities as the rest of the Wizarding World provides an extra strain that will either break or make their relationship.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This fic is written for Esrelda Snape's Learning to Cope challenge from the detailed plot challenges. This fic is also written for the Multi-Chapter boot camp challenge.

* * *

**Learning to Cope  
Chapter 1 (prompt #020: bar)**

His ear tended to hurt at certain times, and the current one was no exception. Not many people bothered remembering the death of Mad-Eye Moody; it didn't matter that he was one of the greatest Aurors of his time and a hero of the First Wizarding War. The Second War had drowned all that out, the lies and confusion weaving a fog so thorough that most of the world only remembered the Battle of Hogwarts and the casualties there…and even then, not by name. War Memorials were scattered all across Britain, but few of them had names engraved. Too many lives had been lost to note, and with bodies removed or destroyed, they had no way of knowing who had simply vanished into the void of time.

It was the anniversary of Mad-Eye's death that day: the same day George was suddenly and without warning parted from his right ear. He didn't remember much of the day, ultimately swooning to blood loss and trying to buzz off a hangover induced by more Firewhiskey than he should have indulged himself in. He had been overage at the time and no stranger to the strong alcoholic beverages of the Wizarding World regardless (he had tasted his first shot of Odgen's finest halfway through fourth year), yet it still left a buzzing sensation that fogged over a few precious hours of his life.

Somehow, it was a fitting action to replicate every year at the anniversary, even if he was alone in doing so. Perhaps Tonks would have joined him; she had been Mad-Eye's protégée after all, but she too was dead along with a good deal of other people he had come to know over the years…and his own twin brother.

He tossed his head back, letting some more of the bitter liquid slide down his throat. It scratched, like Angelina's flu remedies or his tickling beverages did, but it was distracting enough for him not to care. Like the melting wax of a flame it slithered through his chest and warmed his heart, though not as much as family and friends and a good helping of happiness did.

It was impossible to always be happy though, and Aberforth, well used to George's rituals, was obliging. That day, the Hog's Head was rather empty – for the day George lost an ear wasn't nearly as famous in recent history as the Battle of Hogwarts – and had pulled up a stool across from the young adult.

'Wife treating you good?' he asked eventually.

'Sure,' George shrugged. 'It's a little weird, knowing Angie dated my brother back in the day, but we're both happy and about to be parents.'

'Sorry to say this laddie,' and Aberforth's thick eyebrows almost vanished behind his large white mane of hair, 'but you're never looking very happy whenever I see you.'

'Sorry about that,' the red-haired male said, a little off-handish. 'This place is just odd to visit without the need for a strong drink.'

Aberforth waved a wrinkled hand. 'I take no personal offence at the statement,' he said. 'I'm just stating an observation.'

He looked solidly at the other as he said this, the bright blue eyes he had shared with his late brother all the more prominent in the dim surrounds. And like the once-Headmaster of Hogwarts, those eyes seemed capable of piercing through shield, wall or nest of lies.

George shrugged though. 'Angie and I are fine. It's just the first pregnancy, you know.'

Aberforth did not mention that he'd been seeing the Weasley since that fateful year they had met on the battlefield of Hogwarts.

'Well, I don't know anything about raising babies, but good luck.'

There was a large scraping sound as the proprietor pushed his stool back on the squeaky tiles and grasped his cane. George returned to his drink, but the next gulp of Firewhiskey slid down the wrong tube as a Patronus suddenly flared to life before him.

It was Audrey's voice, clipped and professional as she was while at work…which was quite often. Indeed, she was a perfect match for Percy. 'Come to St. Mungo's maternity ward. Angelina's gone into early labour.'

It took a moment for the words to register, and by then the flash of light had disappeared and even the disgruntlement of a few drunks that frequented the Hog's Head had diminished into unintelligible mumbles. When he realised that his wife had gone into labour two months prematurely his own stool went crashing loudly to the ground, inviting a new round of grumbles.

The tiles were of poor quality, and whatever Aberforth saw in them they only served to aggravate the after-effects of alcohol. Back when they were still students at Hogwarts, Fred and George had taken great delight in charming them a wide array of colours and heights, but the last charm they had cast during their sixth year had long since faded, taking its glimmer along. Aberforth still tapped his cane on each tile before stepping, just in case George took it upon himself to create one of their infamous invisible tiles for tripping drunks. Truthfully, the old man was a good sport and didn't mind for all his grumbling and dirty looks, but the job was now left to the new generation of daring students at Hogwarts. George made it a point to always be at his Hogsmeade branch on Hogsmeade weekends (the dates which Headmistress McGonagall was more than happy to provide); their endeavours at Hogwarts had become as legendary as the Marauders before them, and the onus naturally fell upon him to spread the tradition and keep alive their legacy.

Sadly, it seemed that the last batch to wonder into the Hog's Head had done nothing for its tiles, though one had to watch the bottles in case they spurted instead of poured. Pranks always wound down at the end of the school year, so their little holiday merriment turned out to be quite the damper in retrospect.

Of course, that made the folk of the Hog's Head a little more lax in the holiday seasons, for Aberforth wasn't cursing anyone with half a bad brain to make sure the students that crossed his threshold weren't in any physical danger from his other customers. The customers present in the holidays, as a result, were generally the less amiable sort without a screen to filter them out, but George just gave them a small glare and then slapped some bills on to the counter.

Aberforth inclined his head, waving him off and George gladly left. In the fresh afternoon air of Hogsmeade, the message from his sister-in-law replayed itself in his mind. Somehow, the fact that he would be a father in just a few hours, maybe less, had not quite registered itself in his mind. His ear was throbbing again, though dulled by the Firewhiskey he had inhaled, and as he spun on his heel to apparate to St Mungo's, and by the time he popped into existence in a dingy alleyway in downtown London, he had a cheesy grin on his face.

It really was a bad time for the Firewhiskey, but at least he wasn't plastered-drunk.

* * *

'George Weasley! Where have you been?! I called you ages ago!'

George's first thought was that his mother had arrived at the hospital – and it wasn't a bad first thought in the least – however it was Audrey, dressed in her green healing robes, who had her hands on her hips, brown hair tightly plaited and ending just below her shoulder-blades.

'Hogsmeade,' George mumbled, rubbing the ear that still stung. Fleetingly he wondered if he had splinched himself, but that was before he recalled his ear had been severed not by an apparition mishap but by dark magic. 'And it was ten minutes, tops.'

Audrey's strained – not fierce as one would have naturally concluded from her voice – melted slightly. 'Well, it's good you're here now. Things are a little…complicated.'

'Complicated?' George looked towards the maternity ward, whose doors had been spelled shut and curtains closed. 'What do you mean? Can't I see Angie?'

Audrey shook her head. 'Frankly, I'm out here with you because I just haven't had this sort of training –'

'Merlin's sake woman! Stop beating around the bush.'

Percy chose that moment to arrive with three cups of coffee. 'That's my wife you're snapping at,' he said, though somewhat sympathetically. Truthfully, that didn't make George feel better in the least, because the vibes coming at him said that his wife's labour had been complicated and _no-one was telling him what the hell was going on_!

'Angelina's labour has been…complicated,' Audrey, her tone now a mix between familial and profession, began. 'The baby's…well, the easiest way to explain it would be that the baby's stuck.'

'Stuck,' George repeated, for some reason envisioning the time his hand had gotten stuck in the bathtub. His mother had, after a little scolding, simply widened the hole and pulled his wrist out.

'I'm not specialised for deliveries.' The brunette shrugged a little helplessly. 'Healer Bones said things would be fine – it's not a serious complication –'

Either it was the Firewhiskey amplifying everything or the pair had very different definitions of "not serious".

'– and would take half an hour at the most to resolve.' The woman still looked a little anxious, but Susan knew her profession back to front and wasn't known to make misprognosis in the maternity ward she headed. 'I specialise with spell damage, so I –'

Percy put a hand on his wife's shoulder and offered the cup he had brought. 'Calm down,' he said softly. He murmured a few more words of comfort, but George tuned the pair out. His stomach was twisting; twisting painfully. The coffee in its cheap Styrofoam cup, magically spelled to keep its contents warm for a few hours, sloshed around in a manner that would make everyone dizzy. It would be better if he just drank it, but he doubted it would settle his stomach.

In a few minutes – but what felt like hours in the pristine and silently echoing hallway – the Hufflepuff that had been in Ron's year at Hogwarts emerged. Her expression, kind as always with the hint of sadness that came from losing everyone she had over twenty years of magical warfare, gave nothing away.

'George Weasley?' she asked, purely for profession as she knew his face from Hogwarts.

George's one good ear heard his name, slightly distorted in the spacey hallway to echo indiscriminately.

The maternity Healer waved her wand at a small door the Weasleys present had not noticed before then. 'Please come with me.'

George nodded, and made to follow as the brown hair vanished through the doors, but Percy's hand held him momentarily back. 'Would you like me to come?' he asked, concerned.

'Nah.' And George gave the best grin he could muster up, one worthy of a T from the late Fred no doubt. 'It can't be worse than one of Filch's detentions…or Mum's screaming.'

If Percy found the words in bad humour, he refrained from saying so.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This fic is written for Esrelda Snape's Learning to Cope challenge from the detailed plot challenges. This fic is also written for the Multi-Chapter boot camp challenge, and the Long Haul Competition II, week 1.

* * *

**Learning to Cope  
Chapter 2 (prompt #001: Stood-up)**

Angelina found her eyes drifting drowsily to the door. She couldn't see much of anything really: green from the healing robes melting with largely brown or black hair and almost invisible wands, thin scars that shimmered in the air, and the sterile white that painted the background.

The Delivery Room was one of three places in St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries that largely resembled its Muggle counterpart; the others were the Emergency Operating Theatre, and the exclusively Muggle portion that treated those non-magical folk who managed to get on the wrong side of magic. It was a necessity, as magic hadn't developed to the point where they could carry out such delicate procedures without instrumental help, and recent developments made the improved items even _look_ near-identical to their non-magical counterparts. In fact, a good portion of the equipment used in the Operating Theatre _were _purchased from the Muggle Industry, because the monumental risk of using magic upon life-threatening yet ill-defined wounds.

The Delivery Room, by contrast, was a little more of a hybrid since the Healers in that department largely knew what they would be coming into contact with. They still kept their spell casting to a minimum; babies drunk on magical residue had wreaked some interesting circumstances of havoc in the past. But it was a little brighter, with soft whirring noises and tuneless songs from the window-products of various joke shops. Those ranged from ones that had gone out of business soon after the hospital had first been built to the latest craze from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

If Angelina had been in a better condition, she would have been flattered to note a Wronski Feint replica in her spitting image…or how she had looked a year ago, playing for the Holyhead Harpies before taking a lead of absence in her pregnancy. It had been a mistake, she noted during those months, not have not pursued something more stable after leaving Hogwarts, because the end result was that she simply had too much time on her hands. George was used to doing a majority of the work around the flat, also being responsible for a good deal of the mess as he tinkered around with various odds and ends around midday when the stream of customers tapered off a little, only to return with a vengeance from around two in the afternoon. Angelina, for the most part, had spent her days out of the house, either training for an upcoming Quidditch Match, learning new moves or simply improving her overall fitness. The late evenings and nights they used to spend together comfortably – except when she was at home and he found his private time impaired by her presence.

She never thought though that he wouldn't come, but his face and the unmistakable red hair was yet to appear at the door. Pain had blurred her senses, but she felt sure that ginger could not be mistaken for chestnut brown – and the hands clutching and scrunching bed sheets would be taken tenderly, and she would grip hard enough to shatter bones and he would need a bottle of Skele-Gro to repair them. They had joked about it quite wholeheartedly two years back, and somehow their wonderings as to whether they wanted to extend their tiny family with a child always ended on a less than serious note.

But there she was, in the process of giving birth, and George was nowhere to be found. The other presences, all in green, moved around in and out of her vision, appearing at the tip and then vanishing again in the fleeting moments within which she was able to focus on any single image. The pain, dulled by the potion she had been administered – something she hadn't had a choice in but for quick births was purely optional – still spun her head and sent cold shivers down her spine, and the lethargy that snuck in had the world tethering on a very unstable balance.

Tears pricked the corner of her vision, further distorting the room. She needed George; she needed her husband _here_, with her now, holding her hand. But there was no ginger head of hair looking above the green. There was nothing gripping her hands save the slightly course material sneaking between her fingers as she blindly clutched. There was no sound of gentle murmurings of reassurance in her ears, or the off-key singing she sometimes came home to.

She tried to take a deep breath, but it came out broken. She was a strong woman, but it was starting to look as though her first child would defeat her. She closed her eyes, and the world finally went away save the assorted sounds that drifted through her ears with no real melody; she tried to imagine the sound of a baby gurgling, like little Teddy who sometimes came to watch her games with Harry Potter (although it had more to do with Ginny Wasley's presence on the team than her own), and the few nieces and nephews that sprung from her husband's side of the family.

Except there was nothing save pain, starting from her abdomen and back and radiating through to her toes. Maybe, she reflected wearily, she had been caught up in the glamour of a child, and reality was catching up. It wasn't what she had imagined; there hadn't been much of anything, no squirming, no pushing, and this pained drowsiness instead of the sharp teeth-gritting jabs she had been warned of.

She didn't often have nightmares; she was the one who awoke when George started crying out in the night, who ran her fingers through his curls until he quietened, sometimes cried or blabbered but mostly just closed his eyes, and fell asleep again to remember nothing the next morning. Of course, she sometimes saw the dead from the Battle at Hogwarts: the student corpses, some of whom she had tutored, others with whom she had shared some classes and a few even her friends. She saw the pain, the whimpering anguish in hollow eyes that stared back at her in loss, wondering how they'd stepped into a living hell. But she had played such a small role in the war she managed to block out even that…and yet, she was hearing whispers of death, of silence, of a still birth and of depression.

Maybe it was just a nightmare, and it was George's turn to wake up and hold her close. Maybe he was already doing it, because she was warm all of a sudden, comfortable with the nonsensical sounds fading slowly into the realm of sleep.

* * *

George followed Healer Bones into her office, a little stiff but successfully fighting off the hesitation that threatened to seep into his step. The last time he had been present at time of birth was for Ginny's at three years of age. He'd missed Victorie's; it had been so unexpected that Bill had opened the door with a freshly born child when he arrived at Shell Cottage, and Dominique had been born not even a month ago in France. It was, he told himself, perfectly reasonable to be nervous; the Firewhiskey he had downed seemed determined to prove him wrong however, as everything seemed glaringly bright, and the Assistant Healer who quickly stood upon the Healer opening her office door looked entirely too flustered to be normal in a professional setting.

'Oh, I'm so sorry,' the girl, someone George didn't recognise, cried as she scrambled in the uniform robes for her wand.

'It's fine,' Susan said gently, and the Assistant quickly summoned the parchments back to her. 'You can stay,' she added, as the other made to leave. 'We'll just be in the conference room.'

She gestured at an inconspicuous door at the bottom of a small staircase to one side of the room. The portrait looked remarkably like her, though slimmer (and a little hollowed as well), more contrasting and less well defined. Perhaps a distant relative then, one who had played a role in St Mungo's history; History of Magic was one subject which neither George nor Fred had ever cared for…except when utilising the opportunity to brainstorm for new joke ideas.

Susan's robes clung to her a little, contrasting to George's own ones that billowed in his wake, as the two climbed the stairs. The Healer opened the door – unlocked, because it pushed inward at her soft touch, and stepped into the small yet bright space.

George followed, and she shut the door behind her. 'This room is warded,' she explained, gesturing to a comfortable chair while she bustled around the room's few shelves to prepare some tea. Judging from the look on the packet, it appeared to be laced with a mild Calming Drought, and neither that nor the Healer's words helped matters in the least. 'It's a place where Healers and family relatives can talk in private without attracting the attention of or disturbing other inhabitants.' She paused, then added on the look on George's face – which she, admittedly, came across far too often: 'Ms Johnson and the baby are both sleeping right now.'

The relief was obvious on his face, and George didn't bother trying to hide the cheesy grin that appeared. 'That's great,' he declared, standing up abruptly. 'That's – why was everyone panicking?'

It was a little bit of an overstatement, because all of them had seen far more drastic examples of hysteria. Still, Susan's face remained kindly yet sombre, regarding the dizzying relief that the other showed. A little too dizzying to be from a clear mind, she noted, adding some Hangover-Relief potion to the beverage as well and then sitting herself. 'It is good,' she agreed, 'but unfortunately there's more to the situation than that, and that's what I need to discuss with you.'

She handed the cup over, urging him to drink and he regarded him a moment before doing so, eyes passing across the rim as though readings its contents and agreeing with their use. 'I need a straight answer,' he said after a few gulps. 'It's always driven me crazy; not knowing things. I need to know what's wrong, in the simplest terms you can manage.'

'Are you sure?' Susan asked, concerned and a little taken aback from the bluntness. It was rarely a good idea; easing people into the knowledge of life-changing circumstances was generally the way to soften the inevitable blow, but she could understand that there those who could not abide it, those within whom the seeds of paranoia would grow out of control until the truth seems insignificant to the images their imagination had granted them.

'Yeah, I'm sure.'

It seemed like George Weasley was one of those people.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** This fic is written for Esrelda Snape's Learning to Cope challenge from the detailed plot challenges. This fic is also written for the Multi-Chapter boot camp challenge, and the Long Haul Competition II, week 2.

Ouch, really went to the wire this time round since I'm not home tomorrow. Not bad though; I did most of this chapter (bar maybe 80 words) in less than an hour.

* * *

**Learning to Cope  
Chapter 3 (prompt #005: Suspicion)**

George sipped at the cup, recognising the potion easily enough. He wasn't proud enough to reject it though; he was in an awful state – and in the worst timing too. It would have made sense if it were Angelina having mood-swings, but he had thought he had a little time to grieve by himself –

He shook his head and gulped down half the cup in a single go, almost choking on it. Susan's expression, which he noticed upon looking up, was faintly alarmed, though she relaxed in her chair when he set the cup down and looked no worse than before.

Or he assumed he looked that way. It wasn't though he had a mirror handy, and between the weight he had lost over the years and the hole where his right ear should be, he couldn't look much worse.

Made him wonder why Angelina had married him. Especially when they both knew she had loved Fred back in their Hogwarts days and not him.

Sometimes, he found himself regretting it. It was just asking for trouble, that. Marrying someone who probably loved your brother more than you and looked at your face every single day, remembering him. In a way, it was lucky he – Fred – was dead. There was no way his wife was going to cheat on him with his twin at least.

Horrible. All of it horrible. He grabbed the cup again and downed the rest, and the refill the Healer offered.

'Better?' she asked quietly.

George gave half a shrug. 'Just thinking,' he replied. 'Nothing important.'

'Did something happen today?' Susan asked, regarding him carefully. 'So many things happened throughout the war, but it's hard to remember them all. Most people don't remember when Auntie Amelia died, after all.'

The statement could have been shallow, but the sorrow in her voice as she mentioned her aunt was real.

'Yeah,' he agreed. 'I remember reading about that in the paper. She was one heck of a Witch; Dad always spoke highly of her.'

Susan smiled faintly. 'I think she'd be a bit disappointed, really, considering where I've wound up. But the Ministry's not for me.'

'Hmm…' George really didn't know Susan well enough to comment on that, and something bigger hung above them. 'Can we get back on topic?'

The strains in Susan's face became more pronounced as she nodded. 'Very well,' she said, leaning to her side to extract some papers. 'Mrs Johnson is physically fine; we had to conduct a C-section, but the operation was completed without any complications to her.' She paused a moment, watching a few lines fade from the other's face, and then continued: 'She's on painkillers now, but she'll be awake tomorrow morning. You can see her then.'

George nodded; the motion came out somewhat jerkily. He knew that couldn't be the end of it, and _tomorrow_? Waiting an entire night while putting his trust in St Mungos?

St Mungos had saved his father's life, his mind argued.

_Harry_ saved Dad's life, he shot right back.

'As for the baby, there were…' She hesitated, '…a few more complications. Something, a strong magical residue, was interfering with some of our machinery, and then there were natural birth complications as well. The latter was resolved, and we've called a specialist from the Ministry in to investigate the former. But there was another thing…'

George didn't snap again; his head was clearer – but his heart still thudded slowly in his chest, leaving echoes of pain behind. There was something else, _something else_, and he wished he just knew what that something else was –

'I'm sorry?' He blinked when he realised he had missed the Healer's next words.

Susan looked pained as she repeated herself. 'Your daughter was born almost entirely deaf.'

_Deaf. Deaf_. The words echoed in the hole of George's ear. Susan's gaze lingered there, instead of on his face, and he found himself even more self-conscious of the gaping absence it left behind.

_Magical residue… Deaf…_

Somehow, the fact that he was now a proud father to a baby girl was the last thing on his mind.

'I…see.' His voice was painfully controlled; only the fist clenching the empty cup shook a little. 'Please, tell me more.'

* * *

Audrey was a Mediwitch; she had taken an oath. Several oaths really, but one of those was to respect the relationship between a Healer and their patients and family. Normally, that wasn't a problem, but in this case it was her brother-in-law moping in front of the nursery, and she didn't know why. Nor could she ask Healer Bones; the maternity specialist was as obliged to maintain patient and family confidentiality as she.

And George was so far ignoring her. Even the oak doors to the nursery received more attention than she: her brother-in-law cast it a glance each time he passed. Not even the Styrofoam cups with their temporary heating charms and nice hot cups of coffee attracted him. Nor did the insistent tapping of her foot as she waited for him to notice her.

'George,' she tried.

He turned to look at her, startled.

She offered a cup; he took it, taking off the lid to stare into its contents, then replaced it again. She took a sip from hers, but he didn't follow her lead.

'You're not going in?' she asked, jerking her head.

'No point.' George hung his head, voice barely audible. 'She's not there.'

Audrey's brow furrowed at that. The baby wasn't dead; that much she knew. And if it was being operated on, surely George's presence would be required _there_ – and he might have been more useful, instead of the insistent marching around a nursery door. Though she knew it was well worded against all sorts of miasma that could sneak through.

'Angelina's fine,' she ventured.

'I know.'

'How's –' When George didn't take the hint, she continued, 'How's your child?'

Nothing.

'Healthy?'

A semi-informative jerk of the head. Audrey sighed a little; it couldn't be anything detrimental then. Who knew? From Percy she knew George had a tendency to overreact. God knew Angelina knew it too; sometimes, the woman found herself at their place and George over his shop, when tempers and sparks had flown between the pair and they could no longer tolerate each other's presence.

It was a match made in Hell, some people thought: Angelina and George. Sure, they might have been in love – _they_ certainly believed it, along with anyone who had the pleasure of attending their wedding. No-one could think that day that it was a man pining for his brother or a woman pining for her soul-mate. But there was too much between them. Scars made by the war. Scars made by the people they loved. Scars made by themselves, on their own bodies… Scars that had, after all this years, yet to heal.

'That's good, at least.' She tilted her head a little. 'Maybe he or she will fill that little hole in your heart, make this day a little less sad for you.'

George laughed dryly at that. 'Not likely,' he replied, and without explain further continued, 'It's a girl. A bit of black hair like Ange – who's ever heard of a Weasley with black hair?' He snorted to himself, and Audrey held her coffee cup carefully. Quite frankly, she didn't like the way George was talking to her. It bordered on hysterical, it did. And she didn't like it when family and work crossed paths; it was a painful thing, after all, to force yourself to distance from the people you were close to.

She had to thank the Gods that she was the woman in her marriage. She didn't think she could cope with the idea of her partner in labour – and the picture of Percy being a girl while she herself a man was not so amusing in such cases as these…not that they often happened.

'She's got my eye colour though: blue. Haven't seen her yet though, so I don't know about the shade. They've got her, you know? The Ministry?'

'George – ' She began, as he started talking faster.

He spoke over her. 'And you know the best thing?' He raised his free hand, pointing at the hole to the side of his head. 'This! She's inherited this!'

Audrey was blank for a moment.

'That blasted hex that screwed my head is still in there.' He chuckled again, a laugh full of mirth. 'That's Dark Magic for you; messing about with things long after it's gone and its caster dead. God I hate Snape right now.'

He knew it was an accident; they both knew, but there were wounds that had trouble fading after all. No-one could blame the moment where George blamed a man that had been so late being freed from blame, if that very Dark Magic the man had cast would now ruin his innocent daughter's life.

'Good thing Ange's whole; her ear's mangled though. Said they might have to chop it off anyway. Doesn't make a difference though; that Dark Magic's already done its stuff, damaged her hearing.'

He handed the cup back to Audrey and she accepted it, seeing he would drop it otherwise. George resumed his pacing, taking a few deep breaths.

'I can't do this,' he said suddenly.

'You can,' the MediWitch said quietly.

'Not now.' George shook his head, a hand coming up to his temple even if the hangover had long since fled. 'It's too much for a day.'

The brunette nodded; she understood what he meant. 'I'll send Perce with some Dreamless Sleep for you,' she said. 'Go get some sleep; Angelina will be waiting for you tomorrow.'

He gave a jerk of acknowledgement and continued pacing, and when she failed to coax him away from the nursery door (short of spelling him, something she wished to avoid), she called Percy over to Side-Apparate him home.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** This fic is written for Esrelda Snape's Learning to Cope challenge from the detailed plot challenges. This fic is also written for the Multi-Chapter boot camp challenge, and the Long Haul Competition II, week 3. And last minute frantics again because I'm not home on Sunday _again_. And sorry neither George and Angelina aren't in here; Percy decided to take up more space than he was originally allocated. Well, since he gets time with his wife he shouldn't complain. :)

* * *

**Learning to Cope  
Chapter 4 (prompt #036: Coffee)**

Percy found himself frowning disapprovingly at the state of his brother's house. They had left the little apartment above the shop in Diagon Alley soon after Angelina's conception became known, but it looked nothing like the last time had stepped through the fireplace.

Both times, the living room had been cluttered. Then, it had been boxes of unpacked things, gifts and new furniture filling up the space as wrappings were vanished and objects levitated about. There hadn't been much room to walk, and even the cups of tea that their mother made for them had to be led via. wand over the various things in order to arrive at their recipients. But even with all the chaos – wrapped up quite nicely with Victorie attempting to scramble over whatever she could reach – there had been the feel of building home.

Now it was the other sort of mess: a mug still had the final dregs of coffee clinging to it, and a mouth imprint on its rim. Some of the brown liquid had, when it was still fresh, spilt onto a discarded magazine nearby and left to soak, leaving an almost black stain where Lavender Brown's latest fashion report had been.

Percy's brow furrowed that as he bent over the table to take a closer look. Neither his brother nor sister in law were interested in fashion, but it was indeed Witches Weekly opened and lying like the innocent victim upon the varnished surface. A quick glance at the rest of the room showed several more copies, mingling with more Quidditch-related medium and several old editions of the Prophet. He couldn't see a single order form or scribble covered parchment in sight – and if it hadn't been for the portraits of the Weasley and Johnson families on the wall, joint by a rather large one of Fred, he might have thought he was in the wrong house.

There was also the fact that George hadn't seemed surprised at the least upon witnessing the state of the living room – if he had seen it at all. He had simply wandered off to the bathroom, and then to bed, and Percy had to wonder if his wife had a hand in the compliance. Or it was the Dreamless Sleep potion kicking in, now modified for a slower onset that allowed some adjusting to situations first. Calming Droughts were addictive when used often after all; that was something no potioneer since the creation of that potion had been able to change.

But Percy was honestly surprised, because even if George tended to get up in his research and experimentation from time to time, Angelina ran the house with an iron fist. And yet it seemed to be her who had abandoned the coffee cup – unless his younger brother had taken to wearing strawberry scented lip gloss that was.

He was also surprised to the lack of clothes on the floor: something he normally expected when living rooms were in the state they current were. His own job, once he abandoned the upper echelons of the Ministry, involved floo-to-floo visits to rectify domestic situations. By extension that also involved helping families, whether whole or in separate parts, to get back on their feet after whatever bout of violence, magic or legality had come between them. So the scene he saw before him wasn't entirely uncommon, though it did have its oddities.

On a whim he decided to explore the kitchen, only to find it in a mixed state as well. Half the dishes had been done; soapy water was still in the sink, but the rest lay fuming under the cold water. Percy's eyes furrowed at that, and with a sweeping motion with his wand the dishes were cleaned and on the dish-rack. A few more household spells, and the living room too was restored to a more presentable state.

That didn't help his confusion though. It seemed as though George's presence in the house had become almost minimal, while Angelina's lacked the vigour it once had. And yet George hadn't shown up at Ron's place, or theirs. And he highly doubted that Bill would neglect to mention something to him. And Angelina had been at the house of old school friend Alicia Spinnet when the first pains of labour had struck; it was the broom designer that had floo called St. Mungos in a panic.

Surely Angelina would have cleaned up before leaving for the afternoon?

Then Percy sighed and shook his head; in the end, it wasn't really something he could discern from sloppy housework. Maybe she had just been tired; maybe they had both been tired. George certainly looked the part; he couldn't have drunk _that_ much Firewhiskey when Audrey had summoned him.

And he had to admit, he was worried. Less so for Angelina: his sister in law was in good hands with the St Mungo's staff, and he trusted Audrey would get things done even if the pre-war carelessness slipped in again. The newborn child he was a little concerned about; he was sure George would have much more vocal if his or her life was in jeopardy, or – Merlin forbid – dead, but he couldn't imagine what else the issue could be. Magic was so advanced after all, and what they lacked was made up by use of the achievements of the Muggle World. Even if their machinery and medicine had advanced so far, magic was still able to prevent better than their concepts of vaccines. Most muggle-born diseases were unheard of in the Magical world still, including most of the issues he could come up with surrounding one's birth.

In fact, he could come up with absolutely nothing at all. Not even a Teddy Lupin, who would have been surrounded by Healers and reporters at the time of birth if it hadn't been for the circumstances and the Fidelus Charm that protected them, had not become afflicted with any anomality. Nor had Victorie; both of them had been fathered by men with werewolf bites, with Dark magic residue in their bodies.

The fireplace flared, and Audrey stepped through with a sombre expression on her face. 'I'm off for the night,' she said, a little tiredly, as she shrugged off her heavy uniform robe. Below it she wore a simple Muggle tank top and pants that clung to her knees and ankles and could hide whatever she happened to kneel in.

Percy followed his wife as she collapsed on the couch. 'Did you find anything out?' he asked, a little tacklessly, but the eagerness tore away at him.

She half-smiled at him, but it didn't reach her eyes. 'Yeah, I found out some stuff.' She paused, took a deep breath, and then continued: 'You remember what today is, right?'

'The day George lost his ear.' Percy himself hadn't been present at the time, but he had heard about that incident at a later stage. It was also the date of Mad-Eye Moody's death – something widely advertised throughout the Ministry at the time – but somehow that seemed small and inconsequential in the light of their family.

'Yeah, that's it.' She fiddled with a long lock of hair. 'A curse was used on it: Dark Magic. Like werewolf bites and some of the more horrid curses, this one too left a magical residue.'

'But what does that have to do with anything?' Percy frowned. 'It's already been determined that the Dark Magic residue won't pass into the foetus, despite all the complications it gives with the delivery.'

'Apparently not.' She gave a small shrug. 'Maybe not in the case of werewolves, or maybe it was Nymphadora's Metamorphmagus genetics that prevented the placental transfer.'

'And Bill –'

'– wasn't bitten at a full moon. As it didn't lead to him becoming a full-fledged werewolf, it's probable there simply wasn't enough Dark Magic residue to transfer across.'

'So you're saying –' Percy broke his sentence off himself, and Audrey said nothing. It was obvious now; something that had been concluded after only two cases, both too close to home, had wound up being incorrect. ' – that the Dark Magic residue from Professor Snape's curse – incidentally done to _save_ them but backfired and cost George his ear – has now done something to his first child.'

Audrey nodded, her face controlled and blank. Percy buried his head in his hands, tips searching out the red locks that fell forward, and the brunette leaned upon the shoulder nearest to her.

'St. Mungos said they would further investigate it,' she said. 'They want to see if they can remove the magical influence. Newborns are more malleable than adults after all; it may be possible to repair the damage that couldn't be repaired with George.' She paused again. 'I think they want to look at his…ear further as well. To get a better feel of the magic.'

'Because Professor Snape invented that spell.' Percy's voice was muffled, and he lifted his head a little to continue speaking. 'And he's now dead.'

'Yes, and with him the intricate design of many of his spells.' Audrey sighed. 'Life is never as simple as we imagine, and things we think are over and done with years ago return to haunt us now.' Her voice broke a little, and she buried her face into her husband's collarbone. 'She has only half her left ear, Perce. Deformed and curled in. Completely blocked, and a damaged cochlear nerve. It looked horrible, on such a tiny little white baby, freshly washed and with a little pink blanket –' Her voice choked, the mask she created slipping a little. 'It's unheard of; they're already talking about bringing the Department of Mysteries in.'

Percy sought out his wife's hand, and Audrey took it, gripping tightly. 'She hasn't even got a name yet,' she continued. 'She'll be an exhibition of magical science before she even has a name.'

'They can't bring in the Ministry without permission from the family,' Percy pointed out. 'Minister Shackbolt won't allow it.'

It was a small relief though, because it didn't change the fact that his niece was already a spectacle for a deformed and unusable ear.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** This fic is written for Esrelda Snape's Learning to Cope challenge from the detailed plot challenges. This fic is also written for the Multi-Chapter boot camp challenge, and the Long Haul Competition II, week 4.

Maybe George will talk to Ange after this. *is thinking maybe she should have planned this story before jumping headlong into it* I think we're getting back to Ange after this – she has been a bit neglected. A few more chapters, and we'll be time skipping to a point where Roxanne has more of a presence in the story. This is just the prologue arc.

*hopes this makes more sense than the previous chapter* And thanks for your reviews guys. :) I appreciate it.

* * *

**Learning to Cope  
Chapter 5 (prompt #002: Kitchen)**

George awoke to the aroma of coffee wafting through the open door of his bedroom, something that hadn't entered in far too long. It was mostly his fault, he reflected, lying on the stiff mattress a little longer. When he was younger – far younger, not school age – he and Fred would stay under the blankets long after their eyes had cracked open to greet the morning light. Sometimes they would snuggle closer; in the summer's heavy heat they'd creep further apart and shove at the covers until the hot wind caressed barely-clad flesh. And until Molly knocked strongly on their door they would remain, just letting their minds drift along.

Afterwards, they'd use that time to think instead, think of new pranks or potions that could walk towards their greater dream. For the peaceful morning was the perfect time, before they got pushed along by the day's rushing river. Everyone needed a moment to think after all, particularly in the Weasley household.

That day though, he simply considered how different the room smelt, missing those subtleties that his and Angelina's constant present had imprinted in it. The room looked more or less the same – perhaps a little cleaner than the rest of the house as he'd fall asleep in the shop pouring over something or other long after Verity had gone home, or spend an abysmally long time at the Hog's Head or The Leaky Cauldron and just rent out a room for the rest of the night. And Angelina was more and more often at Alicia's house, Alicia who was recovering from a break and had more than enough time for a pregnant friend.

Barring the musk the cleaners used, it smelt almost like their first day at a new house.

Eventually he sighed and shook his head; he had no hangover that day thanks to the potion the night before, but his senses still seemed too bright. His chest felt a little tight; with all the things that had run through his head and heart it seemed a physical toll had come with it as well. Or perhaps it was just an echo he was remembering, like how he would awaken on previous years in bed with Angelina tactfully staying away – if George remembered correctly, it was a tradition for her to spend that time with Alicia, sometimes with Katie and Oliver as well. The old Gryffindor Quidditch Team got together in times aside, but for him the hole in his head was too large and empty on certain days.

They didn't understand it though, and he sometimes wondered if Angelina understood either, or she simply accepted it. But he didn't ask her, for she didn't like to be reminded any more than he.

His eyes found their wedding photo, clean and shining in a room beginning to coat with invisible dust. He sat up, blinking, before his eyelids grew heavy and returned to a more normal state. The sunlight bouncing off recently polished glass did nothing save make him squint a little – though under normal circumstances he would have stumbled off to the bathroom with a string of curses hanging on his lower lip.

The frame was always bright like that he noticed, hoisting himself off the bed and going over to it. But when his searching fingers felt the wood, they found no magic in it. He checked it over with his wand anyhow – the fingers may be more sensitive but they were also less naïve – but came up with nothing save the smell of cleaning agents.

That meant Angelina had cleaned it, very recently, and in the Muggle way.

He wondered how he had never noticed it before, removing his hand and finding the imprint of his thumb upon the glass. He waved his wand over it, suddenly feeling guilty, and the glass above the photo was restored to its usual state. Or almost; if he squinted he could make out the thin outline, gone with a repeat of his mother's spell.

He wondered why Angelina had chosen to polish the glass inside the frame that housed their wedding photo. Why she hadn't cleaned the house like she usually did when she had a little time on her hands and he wasn't getting in her way.

Come to think of it, when was the last time they had spent some quality time together, looking as happy as they did in that wedding photo?

But they weren't happy there; he could see it as he looked closer, but he didn't need to look at all. He remembered the day he was married all too well, and they had both cried on the altar.

* * *

Audrey was making a cup of coffee for herself in the kitchen when George walked in, heading straight for the warmer where the pot usually sat.

He blinked owlishly when he discovered nothing there, and Audrey poured a second cup and handed it to him. He took it with a mumbled thanks, then stared into its depths with only a hint of surprise.

'How are you holding up?' she asked gently.

'I'm wondering when we fell in love,' George responded, and his sister-in-law's lips fell apart.

She stared at him, confused as to the meaning behind his words. 'We – ' she began incoherently, before a thought occurred to her and she tried again. 'Yourself and Angelina, you mean?'

George nodded a little jerkily, turning the cup over in his hands if only to have something to do. A few loose grains that Audrey had not managed to stir into the water stared up at him, reminding him of a time long ago in Trewalny's class when she had seen a future of loneliness in his teacup. Like most others, he had put little stock into her words, but suddenly he found himself glaring at those grains, wondering if coffee grains could tell the future as well.

Audrey looked down as well, but saw nothing in her own cup. 'Why?' she asked slowly. 'Have things been…difficult lately?'

George sighed. 'I don't know,' he said honestly. 'This is a bad time; it always has been. I get into this funk, I know, but things have never been like this before.'

'You only have your first child once.'

'I know.' It came out almost like a groan. 'But we should have made a happy home before we had a kid.' He went on a little, and Audrey cocked her head and listened to him. Listened to how the once iron-dictator of the house had let the seams unravel. How time and care had begun initially with the glamour of a new home and then faded away. How husband and wife spent too much time apart, and how even their wedding photo couldn't capture the unyielding euphoric love they should have married for.

Audrey was silent for all of it; it wasn't often George spoke his mind to his family. All too often it was to a strong beverage at the Hog's Head, mumbled so low that even his coat would be hard pressed to hear all the words. But he was now, because he could not escape to the pub when he wanted a release, nor could he bury himself into his work. St Mungos wanted – needed – him back, and the days that followed would be taxing on all of them.

She wondered how much the staff had told him after Susan's meeting with him was done. She wondered how much of that he remembered, how much he had contested to – and how much he rebuked.

'It's too late for regrets,' she said finally. 'And this isn't the time for them in any case; many parents find themselves getting cold feet at the birth of their child, even if there are no complications. Many things change; sometimes, that child will be the thing that brings you together – makes you whole.' She put a hand on his, pushing the cup lightly towards him and soundlessly encouraging a sip. 'George, you have always been a strong person, and so has Angelina. Some wounds take a lifetime to heal, but as long as you don't let them grow and spread there is something that will create new skin elsewhere. Please tell me you're not thinking of leaving. Not now.'

George looked at his cup, then at her and shook his head. 'I don't know what I was thinking,' he confessed. 'And certainly not – ' He didn't say it, in case the idea suddenly became tangible: a possible reality. 'But it feels like we're married to the wrong people, trying to make the wrong home. Ange still loves Fred – I know it – and I –'

'Real love isn't the romance of fairytales,' Percy said suddenly, appearing in the doorway. 'I heard it all,' he explained when two sets of eyes glanced his way. 'I just didn't want to interrupt.'

Audrey nodded; George didn't react very much at all.

Percy took that as permission to continue. 'Real life marriages aren't always about falling so hopelessly in love you can't live without your partner,' he said. 'And not all those marriages last; you and Angelina may not be that hopelessly in love, but you are both still happy together when the past doesn't walk between you.' He paused, then added: 'It takes two people to make a home, George.'

'It takes two to have any sort of relationship,' George responded, before shaking his head. 'I've got a deaf and nameless daughter waiting for me at the hospital and this is what I'm thinking about.'

'You also have a wife,' Audrey pointed out. 'A wife who deserves to know the heart of her husband and her home.'


End file.
